Broken Vows and Whispered Promises
by leapylion3
Summary: Jon Snow/OC twoshot. What if Jon had a lover back in Winterfell? Accidentally became kind of smutty.
1. Vows

Hey all! :D

I've been working on this for a couple weeks now, and it's finally done! Praise!

It's part one in a twoshot...the other part should be up within a few days.

There's also some smut in here oops. So beware.

Enjoy! Don't hesitate to drop a review!

Mwah!

* * *

It's on the dark, freezing cold nights like these he longs for her the most. It almost makes him regret deciding to go to the Wall. Almost, because he knows she deserves better than him. After all...who would want to marry a bastard, with nothing to offer?

Except, a part of him knows that she won't be with anyone else. They had promised themselves to each other in front of the heart tree. It wasn't a real wedding; just a couple of love struck teenagers who had had a little too much ale to drink. There had been no rings, unless you counted the pieces of string they wrapped around their fingers. Their vows- if you could even call them that- had been little more than a few proclamations of love made in between drunken giggles, hastily blurted out in order to get to the kisses and consummation.

Of course, that had all been before he accepted his uncle's offer to join the Watch. An honorable decision, yes, although he hadn't thought that being apart from her would be so...difficult. The romantic part of him wants to bolt off and run into her arms, and, hell, even the sensible part of him is starting to think like that, too. He hasn't even taken his vows yet. He could do it. Why should he be forced to freeze his arse off and regret giving her up for the rest of his pitiful life?

He stares out the window and, even in the pitch black of the night, he can still make out the monstrosity that is the Wall. He sighs and looks away. They'd always spoken of going to visit far off places; the Wall, Braavos, Pentos, Asshai...he shivers and pulls the furs tighter around his body. What he'd give to be on the warm, sandy beaches of Braavos with her right now.

It had started out innocent enough. A few bashful glances from across the mess hall, resulting in flushed cheeks and avoiding each others' gaze until they would look up at find the other staring at them. She was a serving wench, as pretty as the next, yet there was something special about her. Even now, more than a year after they admitted their love for each other, he still can't put his finger on just what drew him to her.

Perhaps it was the slight curl at the ends of her otherwise pin straight hair. Or the gold specks in her brown eyes. Maybe it was her wide grin, and how she wasn't afraid to show her teeth no matter the minor crookedness to them. All of those things together, he decides, only add to her charm. Perhaps it was the entirety of all her little details combined that drew him to her.

His old friend- friend, if he was being generous-, Theon Greyjoy, would often catch him staring. The ward would always laugh and make a snide remark, which Jon blatantly ignored. Theon would flag Melodie over and she'd come to the table, sneaking glances Jon's way as Greyjoy talked to her. He'd insert innuendos into their conversation, trying to get her and Jon in bed together, which she obviously missed, or just chose to ignore. She'd leave a few moments later, leaving a confused, annoyed and discouraged Theon.

Jon sighs, his breath coming out in a white cloud even though he's in his room, with the fire burning in the hearth. He brings his knees up to his chest and is somehow still shivering under the thick furs. He remembers the nights spent with Melodie very well; she'd always be there to warm him up, if need be.

* * *

_They were right outside his chambers, rather late into the evening. She had been sent up to deliver his supper, since he hadn't felt like coming down; he'd had a terrible dispute with Lady Catelyn a few hours prior, and still didn't think it seemed fit to show his face. _

_Melodie hadn't asked why he was upset, nor did she scold him for arguing with the Lady of Winterfell. Instead, she put down the tray of food, then reached up on her tiptoes and pressed a soft kiss to his lips, her small hands cupping his cheeks. He hesitantly deepened the kiss, his tongue parting her lips and exploring her mouth. He rested his hands gently on her waist, afraid that he would break her, for she seemed so fragile and delicate. She tasted like the lemon cakes she always made special for Sansa, and like cinnamon and honey and sugar and __**summer**__._

_Melodie had left a minute later without another word, red-faced and breathless. Jon himself felt extremely light headed, and could not even form a coherent thought. He went to sit down, completely forgetting about the tray of food waiting for him outside his chambers._

* * *

Jon stifles a yawn and rubs his hand over his face. When he pulls it away, it's wet. Cursing under his breath, he furiously swipes at his eyes. _Crying won't help you, Snow_.

Shivers run up and down his spine; he slips on his tunic, absentmindedly wondering if he could catch frostbite even indoors. Out of the corner of his eye, he notes the extinguishing fire. Sighing, he rolls out of bed and goes to stoke the fire, holding onto the furs and dragging them with him. He collapses in front of the hearth, tunelessly humming a song she would always sing to him.

* * *

_He hadn't seen her the next morn in the mess hall when he went to break his fast, much to his dismay. He ate his meal in silence, the air between him and Lady Catelyn still icy from their argument last night. He pushed his plate away, the food almost untouched, and slunk out of the room, not even bothering to excuse himself. He felt Lady Catelyn's eyes burning holes into the back of his head, reigniting his anger from the day before._

_Later on in the morn, Jon joined Robb and Theon at their daily training session with Ser Rodrik. Robb murmured an apology on behalf of his mother, quelling Jon's anger. Theon, ever insensitive, told him to suck it up and stop whining, which earned him a kick to the groin. _

_From the training area, Jon spotted Melodie walking through the courtyard. He was about to go to her, but a sharp blow in his stomach from the blunt side of Greyjoy's sword made him decide against it. No doubt he would have been a victim of the ward's japes if he left then. _

_He'd gotten hit by his brother and his friend several more times; he simply wasn't focused- all his thoughts went back to Melodie. Ser Rodrik dismissed him, telling him to work harder at the next practice. _

_Jon quickly stopped off at the armory and threw his sword and practice armor into the large shed. Tripping over his own feet, he dashed to where he'd seen her last. He frowned; she wasn't there. Dejected, he went to find his other siblings._

* * *

The fire was roaring once more. He warms his hands up by the flames, his teeth chattering. Ghost looks on at him from the other side of the room, seemingly mocking him. Jon can practically hear the thoughts running through the wolf's mind; _stupid human, freezing your arse off. That's what you get for not having a fur coat_.

Or maybe Jon's just going crazy.

* * *

_Jon came down for supper that night. Melodie was there, serving his family their meals. He watched as Arya tugged on her sleeve and whispered something in Melodie's ear. She laughed, then met his gaze, which only made his heart beat faster. She sauntered off to get another pitcher of ale for the table, her hips swaying more than usual. She sent Jon another look over her shoulder, still laughing._

_He wasn't sure what Arya had told her, but whatever it was, he was extremely glad that she had done so._

_Melodie came to his chambers that night again, later than last time, and empty handed on top of that. She shrugged, a shy smile on her lips. He noted a mischievous glint in her brown eyes. _

_"What are you doing here?" He asked, feeling his own lips tugging upward at the corners. "Isn't it inappropriate for a woman to be in a man's chambers this late?" _

_She laughed and looked at him the same way she had after she spoke to his sister. "There's something charming about you, Jon Snow." The serving girl declared, her smile widening. She said nothing more. She cupped his cheeks like she had the other night, her soft lips brushing his. He returned the kiss, still careful with his touches._

_She grew more insistent, deepening the kiss and moving her hands from his cheeks to tangle themselves in his curly hair. He could taste the wine on her lips and tongue, but he knew she was far from being drunk. No, she came here willingly, and on her own. _

_She'd somehow managed to push them back a few steps and close the door behind her. He held her against the wall, his breeches becoming highly constricting. She must have felt his hardness, for she grinded her hips against his, smirking throughout their kiss. An involuntary groan escaped him and they stumbled over to the bed, drunk on their kisses._

* * *

Jon can still taste her lips on his, despite being at Castle Black for almost three moons now. He remembers every part of her with utmost clarity, every part that his hands and mouth had come to know so well. He can almost envision her lying on the bed, waiting for him.

He wonders if she ever spared him a few thoughts. No doubt she'd have plenty of admirers chasing after her; she had a certain irresistible quality about her. He wonders if she kept their promise, the vows they made at the heart tree.

He wouldn't blame her if she didn't.

* * *

_They tumbled onto the bed into a pile of half-naked limbs, so clumsily that it had them giggling and laughing like fools. She was always able to make him smile like no one else could._

_They pulled off the rest of their clothes and tossed them onto an unwanted pile at the foot of his bed. Their kisses became more heated and desperate, their touches less nervous and cautioned. He'd kissed a couple girls before, but __**gods**__ never like this. Not with teeth and tongue and hands, not with this wild frantic __**need**__._

_Jon and Melodie spent awhile acquainting themselves with each others' bodies. He could sincerely swear that he'd never seen such a beautiful sight as she. Curvy in all the right places, freckles where he thought would never see the light of day. Her breasts fit perfectly into his hands, briefly making him wonder if he and Melodie were made for each other, but all thoughts were drowned out when he heard her moan and whimper at his touch._

_His mouth quickly replaced his hands, and he began teasing her, kissing and sucking at the soft flesh. He switched their position, moving her out of his lap to lie down on the bed. As he traveled down her body, she whispered both endearments and rather filthy things he would be appalled to hear if it were anybody but her saying them._

* * *

Jon will always remember Theon's crude comments about his latest conquests, and the female gender in general. Rude and highly inappropriate, that was certain, but nonetheless true. He hadn't believed him before his first night with Melodie. Looking back, Jon realizes that he never told Theon he was right. Probably for the best, he decides. He'd never hear the end of it if he admitted it.

He enjoyed nothing more than than making love to Melodie and pleasuring her. It was something special they shared between them and only them. He'd give anything to spend one last night with her.

* * *

_He'd often heard Theon talking about how sweet a woman's cunt was, but his vivid descriptions still didn't manage to do Melodie justice. She was sweeter than any wine he'd tasted, and the sounds that came out of her mouth were even sweeter. _

_Her fingers tugged demandingly at his hair, her nails lightly scratching his scalp as he kissed and sucked at her center. He curled a finger inside her, then another, eliciting a loud moan from her. She arched her back, her hips not even touching the mattress anymore. He groaned into her, his cock hardening until it was almost painful. _

_She peaked when he slipped a third finger inside her, crying out his name, her legs clenching around his shoulders before she fell back onto the pillows, her breathing ragged and uneven. He kissed his way up her body, pressing a chaste kiss on her parted lips. She pushed herself up on her elbows and deepened the kiss, pushing his smallclothes off his hips._

_Jon couldn't help but feel embarrassed at his obvious arousal. Melodie must have noticed his discomfort too, since she laughed softly, a knowing smile on her lips. She planted a kiss on his forehead and murmured reassurances in his ear, pulling him on top of her._

* * *

Jon laughs out loud at that memory, earning him a quizzical look from his direwolf. It had taken much convincing on Melodie's part for him to finally make love to her. His biggest fear back then had been putting a bastard in a girl's belly. She had to practically beg him to take her maidenhead and finish what they'd started.

* * *

_Months of pent up wanting and longing went into their lovemaking. Jon tried to restrain himself, not wanting to hurt her, especially on their first time. But his primal instinct ended up taking over, each thrust becoming faster and harder than the last. _

_His fingers dug into her hips, and he made a mental note to kiss the marks after. Melodie dragged her tongue along the base of his throat, playfully nipping at his collarbone. He growled low in his throat, capturing her lips in a heated kiss, his thrusts speeding up even more._

_Her legs tightened around his waist, and he knew she was close. He pressed open mouthed kisses down her neck and shoulders, groaning against her delicate skin when he heard her call out his name. He dragged his tongue along the tops of her breasts, sending her over the edge, crying out that she loved him._

_Jon came a moment later, pulling her even closer by the waist, spilling his seed inside her. Reluctantly, he pulled out of her, pressing a kiss to her damp hair. He collapsed on the bed next to her, and she instantly curled up to his side, nuzzling his neck._

_"Was that true?" he whispered into the silence, far after he was certain that she'd fallen asleep._

_"What was?" she yawned, pulling the furs up to her chin._

_He shifted so he was able to look at her. "You said you loved me."_

_She smiled tiredly, pressing herself even closer against him. She allowed her eyes to close, one arm draped lazily over his chest. "Why else would I have come here, Jon Snow?" She fell asleep moments later, but not before Jon got the chance to say that he loved her, too._

* * *

Jon frowns deeply, moving a bit closer to the fire. He knew his father would have given his blessing if he'd asked for Melodie's hand. Ned had always liked the serving girl, and he always told Jon how much he wanted him to be happy.

Jon had spent so long wallowing in self-pity that he never accepted that he deserved to be happy. All this time, he acted as if it was _his_ fault that he was born. He thought all he deserved was shame and hatred, not love or a family or _Melodie_.

* * *

_They developed a routine. She'd come to his chambers late at night, they'd make love, and then they'd talk, although those two often alternated, depending on their current moods. She'd stay for the night, and wake him up with her hot lips around his cock. She'd leave a few minutes later, having to get to the kitchens._

_If he was lucky, he'd get to see her during the day. A glimpse of her, perhaps, or an exchange of wicked grins from across the courtyard. Sometimes- though much more rarely- he'd be even luckier. Once every couple weeks, he'd find her in the stables, returning from her supply runs from the nearby towns, when he'd go in to saddle his own mount._

_Jon and Melodie would go into an empty stall, exchanging heated kisses, frantically pulling at each others' clothing. They tried to stay quiet, for fear of someone catching them. But the whole prospect of being caught excited them, and made their lovemaking all the more urgent._

_He'd corner her in the dark hallways of the castle if they ran into each other. He'd try to undo her corset, and try to get his hands under her skirts. She'd always giggle and push him away, not letting him go any further than kissing._

_The godswood was a frequent rendezvous for the lovers, although it was more of an accidental one. When one went to pray, the other was more often than not there as well. In Jon's case, he'd catch Melodie bathing in the hot springs, a desire coursing through his veins like he'd never experienced before. He'd quickly shed his clothing and join her, covering her smirking lips with his own._

* * *

Jon yawns once more, his eyelids becoming heavy. He knows he should get some sleep, for there's no doubt that Thorne will give him a hard time tomorrow. However, he also knows that if he falls asleep, he'll dream about her, and waking up in the morn would end a lovely but painfully realistic dream. At least while he's awake, the torture is conscious, and he won't have to pull away from those thoughts.

It makes him feel better in a way. It's his strange idea of logic. It brings him comfort.

* * *

_Their routine was perfected, and they went without getting caught for several months. They were always careful. Jon would make sure to finish on her belly or her thigh so as not to get her pregnant, which she always teased him for. She said she wanted an excuse to marry him. _

_Rickon's third name day resulted in a large and extravagant feast. Jon had managed to steal Melodie away for a few dances. One would think they were just two friends sharing a laugh, the alcohol making them move more than anything else._

_But then the kissing started. He captured her lips with his after their third dance and his fourth goblet of ale. Even Melodie, who was always extremely cautious, didn't protest. Luckily, almost everyone else was drunk by then, and if anyone questioned it, the lovers would just blame it on the wine._

_Soon, they were stumbling into Jon's chambers, their clothes already half-off by the time they slammed the door shut._

* * *

Jon makes his way back to the bed, flopping down, the furs smothering him. Ghost hops up onto the bed and nudges him, whining softly. Jon inches closer and buries his face into the wolf's soft, white fur.

She must hate him now. Why the hell would she wait for him? There was practically no chance of him coming back. She's probably already married by now.

Ghost wriggles out of Jon's hold, going back to his spot by the fire. Snow sighs deeply and rolls onto his back. "I guess you hate me now, too?"

Ghost only sneezes.

* * *

_Jon asked Melodie what she wanted for her nameday. She would never answer, claiming that she had everything she needed. She was a stubborn little thing. A spitfire. Frankly, Jon was proud of himself; it was a wonder how he was able to handle both her and Arya._

_On the eve of her fifteenth nameday, Melodie came into his room, like usual. She brought a large pitcher of wine with her, which was stolen from the kitchens, according to her boasting. "An early nameday present to myself." She declared, raising her glass for a toast._

_They drank the pitcher in a dangerously short amount of time. Jon felt his head swimming, his pulse racing. He thought he would pass out at any given moment, but he managed to last for most of the night._

_"We should get married, Jon Snow," Melodie hiccupped, draining her last glass. "Have a family." _

_"Let's go now." Jon slurred, his voice sounding foreign in his ears._

_"Now?"_

_"Why not?" He shrugged, tossing his empty mug to the floor. "The night is young."_

_"We have no one to marry us." She pointed out, obviously the more sober out of the two._

_"We have a godswood," he countered. "They're __**our**__ vows, anyway. No one has to say them for us."_

_ They said their vows within the hour, their speeches slurred and nonsensical. They consummated the marriage- or whatever it really was- right under the heart tree, too impatient to go back to his chambers. _

_In the early hours of the morn, they snuck back to the castle, trying to bite back their laughter. They knew if they woke anybody, or if anyone found them, their marriage wouldn't last that much longer._

* * *

Jon rolls onto his side, burying his face into his pillow. _I shall take no wife, hold no lands father no children..._

"A little late for that, I suppose." He mutters to himself, watching the flames in the hearth dance out of the corner of his eye.

If only he could change the Night's Watch vows.

* * *

_Uncle Benjen came to visit when King Robert and his court came to Winterfell. Jon hadn't seen his uncle for more than five years, so him visiting was a nice surprise. He felt like he related to him more than any other of his family. _

_Benjen had always talked to him about joining the Night's Watch, which always excited Jon. He wanted to become a Sworn Brother ever since he could remember._

_Of course, that was before he'd fallen in love with Melodie._

_But his uncle was counting on him. They always talked about ranging beyond the Wall together, fighting wildings side by side. The Watch was an honorable duty._

_Jon agreed to ride North with his uncle._

_When he told Melodie he was leaving, she screamed and punched and kicked and begged him to stay. His heart broke when he saw her cry. And it hurt even more knowing he was the one to cause her this pain._

_She cried when they made love that night, knowing it would be the last time. He whispered over and over again that he loved her, though it brought neither of them comfort. She clung onto him tightly, sobbing as he held her the entire night._

_She eventually got out of bed and pulled on her clothes, her eyes bloodshot and her throat raw. Jon stayed in bed, watching her, trying to memorize the scene. She crawled back into bed once she was dressed, carding her fingers through his hair. _

_"I'm so sorry." Jon breathed against her neck, tracing random patterns on her back with his fingertips. _

_"So am I." Melodie sniffled, pressing a kiss to his cheek._

_He took her small hands in his and brought them to his lips. "I love you so much." She kissed away his silent tears that had begun to fall._

_She pulled away and smiled sadly, her eyes watery. "Not enough to make you stay, I'm afraid."_


	2. Promises

Sorry for the delay, everyone! I just had some writer's block this week and all the usual chiz.

But here it is!

Thanks everyone! Enjoy! Mwah!

* * *

**_309 AL_**

Jon Snow, 998th Lord Commander of the Night's Watch- recently discharged due to acts of valor-, dismounts from his horse, his breath catching in his throat. It looks so different, but that fact is reassuring to him. He could never call it 'home' again. Not after his father died, not after Robb died, not when half his other siblings are still missing.

Slowly, almost agonizingly, the gates open, the loud creaking echoing in his ears. The guards step aside to let him pass. Jon nods at the two men and hands his horse to a stableboy. Taking a deep breath, he walks through the gates, Ghost padding silently behind him.

They'd done a good job of repairing Winterfell. After what he'd heard, it had practically been destroyed by the Boltons. It still has some similar aspects as before, but apart from those tiny details, it's almost unrecognizable.

Lord Rickon Stark and his betrothed, Lady Shireen Baratheon, wait in the courtyard for him. Once Queen Daenerys had reclaimed the throne, she appointed Stannis Baratheon as her Hand, as a compromise of sorts. Daenerys had helped the Starks win Winterfell back, extinguishing House Bolton in the process.

Jon kneels before Rickon and Shireen, his head bowed. "My lord, my lady." His grey eyes flicker up from underneath his long curly hair. A terrible ache settles in his heart; Rickon looks so much like Robb. A boy of fourteen, just like Robb had been before he marched South.

"Jon, you're my brother," Rickon gently chastises. "If you think you have to bother with the silly courtesies, you're greatly mistaken." Lord Stark- Jon has to remind himself, not because of the courtesies, but because he has to remember that his father and Robb aren't around anymore- helps Snow to his feet, and wrapped him in a tight hug.

Jon pulls away a few moments later, meeting the blue eyes of his half-brother. "Where is everybody?" Despite being only recently rebuilt, Jon expected more than just Rickon and Shireen to be in the courtyard.

Rickon sighs deeply. "Sansa's gone down to King's Landing; she is to marry Prince Aegon Targaryen." He purses his lips, all trace of happiness gone from his face. "Arya and Bran are still missing. We've sent out search parties and sent ravens to every corner of Westeros. If we would have found something out, we would have told you."

"Yes, of course. You're right." Jon mutters, ducking his head in shame.

He speaks to Rickon and Shireen for a short while more, all awkward polite conversation and beating around the bush, for, at this point, no one knows what to say anymore. Any topic could be considered a tender one, with all they've been through.

Jon escapes any further conversation by claiming he wants to have a look around. Rickon and Shireen let him go his own way, reminding him to join them for supper later on. Snow mumbles that he'll be there, then proceeds to look around town.

He only recognizes a couple of the faces that he passes. He swallows thickly, the harsh reality looming in the back of his mind once more. _Everyone's dead, Jon._

He bumps into someone, his cheeks flaming as he mutters his apologies. He bends down to help her pick up her things, occasionally- _accidentally_- brushing his hand with hers. He hands her her things, another apology escaping his lips.

He slowly looks up when she tells him that it's fine. He _knows _that voice, dammit. It's the one that's been haunting his dreams for the past ten years, the one he always wished was whispering in his ear.

"Melodie?" He blurts out, his chest feeling as if it'd cave in on itself. Ten years ago, he'd left a girl, and he came back to a _woman_. Her cheekbones were sharpened, her face harder, and- though he blushes when he thinks about it- she's become even more shapely, and he finds his eyes wandering down the curve of her neck to the decent amount of cleavage displayed.

He meets her eyes, and feels a stab of guilt in his gut. No longer is there any amusement or mischief in the brown orbs. Jon sees only grief, remorse, pain and anger. He wants to take her in his arms and tell him that it's alright, he's back for good, he's here.

"Jon Snow," Melodie murmurs, taking his outstretched hand in hers. He helps her to her feet, his hands trembling. There's a hint of a smile on her lips, but it still doesn't reach her eyes. "You look like you've seen a ghost." _I have. You are one. You're a ghost of my past._

He laughs nervously and jerks his hand away from hers, feeling uneasy about the fact that he still feels sparks when they touch. She eyes him oddly, taking a small step back from him. He licks his lips, his pulse racing. "How are you?" He just wants things to be right between them. More than anything. _Like we used to be_.

She sighs. "Alright, I suppose. It's strange being back."

Jon furrows his eyebrows. "You left Winterfell?"

She opens her mouth to speak, but quickly closes it. "Yes. A little after you left." Her expression is stoic, her tone cryptic. She gives a tiny shake of her head, dismissing her previous statement. A lock of her hair falls out of the bun at the top of her head, and Jon wants nothing more than to reach over and tuck it behind her ear. _Please, trust me. You can tell me._

"What are you doing here?" She asks, her jaw clenched tightly. "I thought you're Lord Commander now."

He shrugs. "Discharged for acts of valor by Queen Daenerys herself." She laughs at that, though he's not sure why. His heart sinks; her laugh isn't like how it used to be. It used to sound like music to his ears, like wind chimes, or the bells the singers used to play when they came to perform. Now, it's dark and hollow, and, though she hides it well in everything else she does, he can hear the pain in her laugh.

"Mama!" A boy's voice calls, snapping Jon out of his visions of the past. A young lad, perhaps ten years old, runs up, a bright smile on his red face. "I ran all the way to the godswood and back!" He declares proudly, still catching his breath.

"Good for you, honey." Melodie ruffles the boy's hair. The realization hits Jon like a tidal wave. She got married. She had a child without him. She moved on with her life.

The boy tugs on her sleeve. "Mama, who's he?" He sticks his pudgy fingers in his mouth, but quickly pulls them out when Melodie shoots him a look.

"Honey, this is Jon Snow. He's a..." she clears her throat, keeping her gaze downcast. "He's an old friend of mine."

The boy moves to Jon and gestures for him to kneel down. He obliges, now at eye level with the boy. He's struck by how much he looks like her; round nose, freckled cheeks, defined features. His hair is a messy mop of curly black locks, which Melodie constantly runs her fingers through.

"Hello." Jon says to the boy.

"I'm Rickard." He announces, bouncing on the balls of his feet. "Mama told me about you before,"

"Honey-" Melodie warns, but Rickard continues.

"She talks about you a lot, actually." Rickard furrows his eyebrows, his eyes narrowing in determination. Jon takes note that they're a stormy grey. Time seems to slow down, and it's hard for him to breathe. "You left her, but you two loved each other. I don't understand."

"Rickard, that's enough-"

"I never knew my father. Mama says he left awhile ago. Are you him?"

"Rickard, please, stop!" Melodie's voice cracks and is bordering on hysteria. Jon looks up at her and wants to kiss away the silent tears that are falling. "I'm sorry, Jon." She whispers, pulling her son-_ their_ son- away from him.

Jon stands up, putting a hand on her arm. "Can I talk to you? Please?" She gnaws on her lip before giving him a tiny nod of her head. She tells Rickard to go play with his friends, but to be back for supper.

They walk to her small house on the border of the castle in silence. Jon can see the dark circles under her eyes, and he's almost certain he's responsible for her sleepless nights. She lost the spring in her step, he notices.

"Is he really mine?" he asks finally, his voice barely above a whisper. They stop in front of her house, and he can tell she wants him to leave.

"Of course he's yours," she snaps. "Who else's would he be?" She hoists her basket higher on her hip.

"I'm so sorry."

"I'm not," she sniffs, opening the door and then steps inside. Jon follows her, unwilling to let her go that easily. "He's the only thing that kept me alive." She turns to face him, hate flashing in her eyes. "Do you know how long I spent resenting you?" she snorts and shakes her head, depositing the basket on the table. "He's a constant reminder of you. Of what we _had_."

His lips twitch. "You could have gotten married. Moved on." He instantly regrets saying that.

"You don't think I tried?" she cries, slamming her fists down on the table. "I left Winterfell because of you! I couldn't bear it! Everywhere I looked, I saw you!"

"Where did you go?" He takes a small step towards her.

"Pentos. Just like we always talked about." Jon flinches at the harshness of her tone. "I spent days and nights wishing you would come back. Sweep me off my feet like in the songs, and we'd ride off into the sunset." She laughs again, the dreadful and vacant sound filling his ears. "I was foolish to think like that. I stopped dreaming soon enough. There are no fairytale endings, Jon Snow." She sits down, visibly trembling.

He tries to think of what to say, but everything he considers sounds absolutely stupid. "I'm staying," he eventually tells her. "For now, anyway." He sits down across from her, his movements slow and cautious. "Maybe we could..." He trails off. _Maybe we could __**what**__? She hates you. _"We could raise him together."

She's seething now, her fingers gripping the edge of her chair. "You think you can waltz back into my life and pretend that everything's the way it was?" He can practically see the smoke coming out of Melodie's ears.

"He's my son, too." Jon's nostrils flare and he tries to contain his anger. He doesn't want to be angry; he just wants to kiss her, make love to her, hold her like he used to in the dead hours of the night.

"In case you haven't noticed, Jon Snow, he's not a babe anymore. He's _ten years old_. Do you think he can simply accept the fact that his father's here now?" She lowers her voice, her anger dissipating. "He thinks you hate him. He thinks you left because you didn't want him."

"Why didn't you tell him otherwise?"

"I tried, _gods_, did I try. But he won't believe me." She buries her face in her hands, her shoulders shaking with silent sobs. "I wish you could stay. But I don't think it would be good for any of us."

"Please," he whispers, crying now as well. "We have to try."

She lets out a muffled sob. "Jon, I spent so many years resenting you for what you did to me. I don't think I could-"

"-Melodie, please-"

"-ever possibly love you again." Another sob. "I want to. I do, so badly, it _hurts_. But I don't think I'm _capable_ of it." She stands up, swiping at her tears. "You can visit him, if you're staying in Winterfell. I'm sure he'd like that." She tries to smile, but it ends up looking more like a grimace. "I think you should go now."

"I don't think I should."

She ignores him, watching him from under wet eyelashes. "Goodbye, Jon Snow."

Jon shoots up out of his chair and grabs her arm, pulling her toward him. He crushes his lips against hers, his fingers tangling in her hair. _Gods_, he's missed this. He's been dreaming about it every night since he left, the feel of her mouth moving against his and their tongues battling for dominance.

Their tears mingle, and he can taste the salt with every kiss. It somehow makes everything seem more urgent, because _gods_ it's been ten years, and suddenly they feel like teenagers again, before the war, before they knew how bad this world could be.

"I never thought I'd see you again." Jon admits in a whisper, resting his forehead against hers. "I thought you were dead." His lips brush against hers with every word, and he can taste the honey and sugar and cinnamon on her breath and it seems like he hadn't even left all those years ago.

"This doesn't feel real." Melodie sits on the edge of the table, her tiny feet dangling off the side. Her hands still cling onto his doublet, her nails digging into the leather. He puts one hand on either side of her waist and resists the urge to take her right there on the table.

"What are we doing, Jon?" she murmurs, her sweet breath tickling his cheeks. "We're broken people. Shattered and lost."

"Two halves of a whole." He counters, kissing her fiercely. _Please, just let it happen_. It seems ridiculous, really, how their positions were now switched. Melodie was always the act-now-think-later kind of person, while Jon was reserved and careful with every action.

She doesn't protest this time, instead, deepening the kiss. He groans into her mouth, already hard and ready. She whimpers back, guiding his hands to the laces of her dress. His fingers fumble with the ties, clumsy and unpracticed. But she's out of the dress soon enough, and his cock strains painfully in his breeches as his eyes drink her in. Even with her corset and smallclothes on, he can make out the curves of her breasts, belly and thighs, softened from childbirth. She's somehow even more beautiful than before. She's more freckled from the years spent in Pentos, tiny brown dots dusted over her arms and legs, and he wants to kiss every single one.

"Gods, I've missed you." Jon growls against the skin of her neck. He gently nudges her knees apart with his hand, his fingers trailing up the skin of her thighs. He slips his hand inside her smallclothes and curls finger inside her, then another, and he thinks back to their first time. All those years…_a lifetime ago, really_.

He drops to the floor, sitting on his calves, and pushes apart her knees even wider. He pulls out his fingers, making her whimper in protest. He sticks them in his mouth, eliciting a loud moan from her, followed by a blue streak of curses. With a small smirk, he peels off her smallclothes, and she raises her hips to help him. He leans in and kisses her hips and thighs, licking stripes with the flat of his tongue. He loves seeing her like this; her face screwed up in frustration, her teeth working her bottom lip and her fingers digging into whatever surface she can find.

He gives her cunt a slow, deliberate lick, and he hears Melodie quietly begging for more, her chest heaving up and down with every ragged breath. Jon doesn't need to be told twice; he hooks his hands under her knees, bringing them to rest on his shoulders. Her thighs clench around him as he continues to kiss and lap at her.

He's forgotten how positively beautiful she looks when she comes. Her lips form a perfect 'o' shape, her head thrown back, eyes closed. The fact that it's _him_ who makes her come undone like this makes him want her even more desperately, and he wants to make her look like that again and again.

They look absolutely foolish, running to the bedroom, half-clothed and red-faced. He laughs as he slams the door shut behind them and pins her up against the wall; she's only wearing her corset and her blue slippers, her dress and smallclothes bunched up in her arms. He plucks them out of her hands and drops them to the floor, pressing kisses to her neck and shoulders. She laughs with him, and it sounds like wind chimes again, like bells and music. Like it used to. _Like it should be_.

He captures her lips in another searing kiss, lifting her up and carrying her to the bed. She kicks off her slippers and tosses her corset aside, waiting for him on the bed with her legs spread wide, a teasing glint in her eye. He quickly sheds his clothes and joins her, kissing her with desire and want and _need_.

He makes love to her over and over, and they're lost in the intensity of all the positions and sensations. He thought that lying with her once would quell his fantasy, but it only made his desire stronger.

They lie in each others' arms for awhile, silent except for their quiet breathing. The furs on the bed are in disarray, half of it on the floor. Neither of them makes a move to fix it, for they know that any movement will break the moment.

Eventually, Melodie pulls away from him and rolls out of bed. She slips back into her clothing and combs her hair. She looks out the window to see if Rickard's on his way back yet. She sits back down on the edge of the bed, and Jon reaches out to run his fingers through her long locks.

"That was a mistake." She murmurs, her shoulders hunching. She sighs and wrings her hands together. "I was just learning how to live without you, and then you have to come back into my life again," she shakes her head and Jon lets her hair slip through his fingers. "You have a tendency to bring trouble with you wherever you go, don't you?" She smiles a bit at that, but Jon sees the tear that falls into her lap.

He swallows thickly and pushes himself up onto his elbows. "I'm sorry."

"I know you are." She turns her head to look at him. "I just don't think I can find it in my heart to forgive you."

Jon feels as if an iron fist is squeezing his throat. "Please don't say that," he chokes out. He sits up and grasps her hand in both of his. "Leaving you is the thing I regret the most." He kisses her knuckles and desperately tries not to cry in front of her.

"I don't think that coming back was a good decision, either." She says softly, cupping his cheek.

"Can we try?" he squeezes his eyes shut. "I haven't been there for him, but he's still my son. I don't want to miss the rest of his life." Slowly, he opens his eyes, one at a time. He lowers his voice, meeting her gaze. "I still love you. I never stopped."

Melodie crawls back into his embrace, burying her face in his neck to stifle her sobs. "Stay with me, Jon. With _us_."

* * *

**_314 AL_**

"Be careful!" Melodie calls from her seat on the porch. She looks so beautiful, more so than usual, Jon decides; long hair left loose, freckled skin tinted a few shades darker than normal, and her thin dress clinging to her curves in all the right places.

"Aren't we always?" Jon shoots back, grinning widely. He scoops up the giggling Aryanna, who's the spitting image of her namesake. Jon runs down the stairs onto the beach, curling his toes in the soft sand. He lifts Aryanna high above his head, laughing with his daughter.

Rickard dashes by, diving into the ocean. Water flies in the air, drenching Jon and Aryanna. "_Rickard_!" The little girl cries, and Jon sets her down. She runs to her older brother, who's grinning and floating leisurely in the salty water.

"Don't come to the ocean if you don't expect to get wet," Rickard's grin widens, and Jon swears he's Robb reincarnated.

Aryanna goes into the water, swimming towards Rickard. The fifteen-year-old plucks her out of the waves and puts her on his shoulders. "Horsey, go!" The four-year-old beams, pulling on her brother's hair.

Still laughing, Jon shakes his head, water droplets flying in all directions. He goes back up the stairs to the house where he, Melodie and the children have been living for the past two years. _Pentos...just like we always talked about._ They still write ravens to their family in Westeros, and are due for a visit soon.

Jon leans down and kisses his wife, running his hand over her slightly swollen belly. They had agreed on Brandon if it was a boy, or Lyanna if it was a girl. She puts her hands on his bare shoulders and stands up, reaching on her tiptoes to kiss him again.

Jon pulls away and looks his wife up and down. Because of the warm weather, she was always wearing the sheer Pentosi dresses. He can make out the soft swells of her breasts and her sharp hipbones.

"See anything interesting?" she teases, her lips curling into a smirk.

"You know I hate it whenever you wear these dresses," he growls, kissing her neck.

"_Jon Snow_," she admonishes in mock-horror. "You're not supposed to insult your wife like that, you know." He can hear the smile in her voice.

"Have you seen the way other men look at you?"

"Then you should feel lucky," she counters, slipping away from him and going down the stairs. She steps onto the hot sand, kicking off her slippers. She looks at him from over her shoulder, a wide grin on her face. "Are you coming?"


End file.
